Guardian Angel
by xxxHikari-Kuraixxx
Summary: And it was then when I realized I was never truly immortal… it was just that my heart was waiting for yours... in order to start beating again." "... Almost… almost as if we're literal soul mates?" I ask, not looking Roxas but still hiding my inevitable blush. I can feel him slowly turn his head to look at me. "Yeah, I guess you could think of it that way."
1. Rain

**Guardian Angel.**

_. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ._

* * *

Rain.

My sole source of tranquility. My core essence of serenity. My only sanctuary.

While all others scatter and panic in the piercingly cold, liquid substance like dying ants, I stand here and embrace it; bask in it, even. It cleanses me, unclouds my thoughts. First, it starts off at the top of my head, and massages my scalp, then it trickles down to the base of my neck, flowing to my back and front torso. The wind creates wild waves of rain to cover the rest of my body. Leaving me completely soaked.

The tranquil and unyielding raindrops are heavy. The bold and sweet melodious rumbles of thunder are heavier.

This is so peaceful and comforting for a weak and lonely soul.

"Young lady," a policeman uses his deep, gruff voice to grasp my attention. I ignore him and keep my eyes closed, letting the soft scent of rain fill my nostrils. "Do you know what time it is? I think you'd better get home. You'll get sick from this rain."

I still ignore him.

"You do have a home, right? How old are you?"

Don't you get it, Policeman? I don't want to be bothered. Shoo. Go away and leave me be.

He still keeps speaking, not caring about my unspoken response, "Well, by the looks of your age, I'd say that it's way past curfew for you. The legal curfew here is 12:30 am for minors."

So? This is a storm that I could not pass up. No matter how late at night it is.

"You need to head back home or, legally, I can give you a ticket… Or take you in. Now, I don't want to do that."

I just sigh, now fully realizing that this policeman won't let me enjoy this lovely weather.

"Hey… Hey! Don't walk away while I'm-…"

His voice becomes one with the rain. I can't hear it now. And I don't want to.

I walk down the slick streets of the downtown area of Twilight Town, the rain now falling in light, even pulses. A little too light for my liking. When it's heavier, I feel a little more…protected.

I'm only a few blocks away from my destination when I turn a corner next to the Clock Tower. I make my way to the end of Shrill St., where the house is. My "home." And the quotation marks are absolutely necessary because I'll never understand the meaning of a "home". I've never had a real one. At least, I don't think I have. A social worker always moves me away just when I think I've found a suitable enough place to dwell in for the moment. Then they cast me somewhere else with either far more preferable living conditions—or much, much worse than the last. Either way, it's all unstable living. Such is the life of a child who was given up for adoption.

But, even though I'm still confused about the concept, I know this place is very far from what I would ever want as a "home". It's bitter. Old. Murky. Evil. And this rainfall—though I thought it was my only safe haven—only seems to bring out the somewhat sinister intentions if this house…

Maybe the rain isn't my true protection, like I thought it was after all.

Maybe I'll never find my "home".

After taking in one last refreshing breath, I walk through the front yard of the puce green and white four-story Victorian-style house where I currently take residence, unlock the door, and step inside.

I immediately want to go crawl inside a hole somewhere when I feel goose bumps spring up all over my skin. The house is cold. And so is this ashen atmosphere. It's cold like the hearts of every soul that lives in this wretched foster "home". It's even colder because of my drenched clothing.

I've been here for a week and they never, ever turn the heat on. They always have the temperature set to 67°F. Not 68°, not 66°; But always _67°F_, even though it's mid-Autumn. Damn these stubborn people. But whatever, I need to take a shower. I remember the small tour of the house that my foster facilitator gave me a few days earlier. He said that my bathroom would be on the third floor. That is the closest functioning bathroom to the attic, which is also my room.

I go up a winding staircase to climb my way to the top floor. Once up here, I pull on the chain which turns on the ceiling light bulb. It's very dirty in here. Not by my doing, of course. They didn't even bother to clean up this old room before they made me live in here. The dust particles in the air sparkle in the dim light which just barely brings color into the room. I walk to a small dresser filled with my belongings so I can get something to sleep in.

_. R . X . R . X . R . X ._

The droplets of water that rapidly hit me then melt on to my back in the shower are nothing in comparison to the rain of outside. But I guess it'll have to do. At least this shower is keeping me warm…

After ridding of my body dirt, toxins, and the cold feeling; I step out of the shower, the water still running. I always do this so it can still sound like rain. What can I say? My passion for rain is very strong. Probably stronger than anything else about me.

I dry myself off, lotion my body, and pull on my sleeping attire. Then I lightly brush my hair like I always do after a shower to get the tangles out while it's still wet. I finally turn off the shower. Small wisps of cold air seep in through the opening at the bottom of the door of the bathroom. Turning back on my heels, I walk out the door, but not before taking a look at my slightly fogged reflection in the mirror.

I wonder… I wonder what people think of me when they see me. I mean, I don't think I'm all _that_ hard to look at. I'm not ugly, but I'm also not all that pretty. I guess I'm just… Xion: Short, black hair loosely cut into my own personal style. Smooth, tan skin, a thin jaw-line at the bottom of my face. Two lightly dimpled cheeks when I look for them hard enough. Wide, blue eyes that have seen so much beyond what it may seem like at a surface level. I would describe my smile but… I mean, when I do smile, it isn't true, or honest. It always feels forced.

I glance at myself one more time then walk out of the bathroom and up to the attic making sure to stay quiet so I don't wake anyone.

Since my hair is still wet, I decide to poke my head out of the fairly large circular glass window, and let the post-rainfall wind dry it. Eventually, my hair dries and I feel compelled to droop my eyes and drift to sleep. But then I see the musty, dusty, stale, uncomfortable bed that I'm forced to sleep in each night. Now I feel wide awake. This house is so big, and yet I get crammed up here.

But… maybe I should get some sleep. I have to get up again for school tomorrow.

It'll be yet another first day for me.


	2. Nothing to Live For

**Guardian Angel**

_. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ._

* * *

**One.**

**Two.**

**Three.**

_Three gunshots._

_And they're getting closer._

_Time is ticking._

**Four.**

_Another gunshot has been fired. Another scream echoes sharply. Another victim killed. This isn't just a murder—it's a slaughter. And I think I'm next._

_Fight is definitely out of the question now, all I can depend on is flight._

_This pain is starting to take over my thoughts. I can just barely strain my head upward from its lying position on the salty asphalt, while letting out heavy, raspy coughs. Even though I can't walk, I still check my surroundings._

_There._

_I spot my only chance of refuge: a building standing old and abandoned...on the other side of the empty street. '__Can I even make it that far without the use of my legs?'_

**Five**_—another shot._

'_I don't have enough time to think about this! I'll have to crawl.'_

_Now determined to get inside the building, I lift my arm from the ground and place it in front of me. A searing pain meets my hand as I claw __fistfuls__ of the ground in front of me with my right hand and pull forward, dirt and grime digging into my nails, my other slightly bruised arm follows suit. The tiny shards of rock and shattered glass on the ground pierces the skin all over __me__ as I slowly struggle to wriggle my body and drag along; making everything that isn't protected by clothin__g __bleed; most-likely infecting the opened skin with the __filthy __dirt that camouflages them. My arms begin to shake and stagger because of the weight they have to carry on their own._

_But I still have to move forward. Because if I don't...—_

**Six.**

—_I'd say it's pretty self-explanatory._

_When I look around again, a small frame of a figure sitting at the structure's bas__e __comes into vision. Its image slowly begins piece together and develop. It would seem small and blurry to the normal naked eye at this distance; but the adrenaline pumping through my veins couldn't make it an__y clearer__: A boy is sitting there. His bottom placed on the edge of the broken concrete curb, his knees tucked in between his bony arms and chest covered by a shirt once decorated with pictures of cartoon puppies now blackened with blood. His jade-green pajama pants are almost in tatters. Hushed cries escape his lips as his shoulders shudder, shake, sink, lift to an unknown rhythm. Breaths short and uneven, his head suddenly points upward as he hears the muffled crash ricochet back and forth against the atmosphere._

**Seven.**

_Now I can see his face. His livid pupils are dilated. The once whites of his eyes are stained red from the apparent glistening tears he's weeping. His hair is messy and matted against his scalp. I can see globs of dark red and black, runny liquid in his blond hair. He's very, very hurt. And I know it's in many more ways than just one._

_I feel...so compelled to help him-_

**Eight**_._

'_No. Not now. There's no time. I can barely even save myself__.'_

_This shot was five times louder than the last. I know have to get to that building soon. The source of the shots are getting much closer. I check the distance I've traveled so far..._

_Just barely over two and a half feet._

_Another loud clamor rockets through the sky._

**Nine.**

'_N-no. I'm almost there,'__I try to convince myself, though I know that whoever is out there could very well be only a few seconds away._ '_I have to be almost there! I...I refuse to let this be the end...'_

_Tears descending down and out from my eyes, my breaths quicken, and I try my best to pick myself up off the ground. The pain running through my body though, only takes control again and drags me back down. I literally bite the dust. Now I'm really starting to worry._

_"N-no..." my words are soft, "I... can't give up... I...I have to get out of h-here!"_

_But no matter how much I'll talk, nothing helps me up. I look over to the crying boy again, his head now back down to his knees._

**Ten.**

_Time is ticking._

_I cry in frustration, hitting the ground. I start to sob louder, not caring about the inevitable pain. Not caring if the source of the gunshot hears me. Now, none of it matters to me._

_That boy cringes when the shot becomes noticeably louder. Extremely closer._

"_H-help...me. Someone please..." Despite his loud cries to the sounds, the boy's words I barely hear are only a whimper._

'_What do I do?'_

**Eleven.**

**Twelve.**

**Thirteen.**

**Fourteen.**

_Another blood-curdling scream pierces the atmosphere. So close._

_I look to my left and see a man standing tall against the horizon. Blood on his white hooded cloak. A jet black gun is in his hand. He walks down the tar street-hill; ever-so-slowly he paces towards our two broken bodies that are separated at an unreachable distance._

**Fifteen**_**.**_

_A warning shot._

_Or maybe he's just taunting us. He knows damn-well he could have shot one of us right then and there._

_"W-what's your name...?!" I ask, frantically yelling to the boy. Something inside me is aching to know this. This is the last thing I need to know before our...death. I know it's coming and at this point I can't do anything about it. It's sad, really..._

**Sixteen.**

_His head flinches towards me. He didn't know of my presence until now, though he still stays in his place, not running away. Not like he could anyways. "M...my n-name?" He can barely yell._

_I weakly nod._

"_Xi...Xi...on..."_

**Seventeen.**

"_...What?" How did he...?_

"_My name is-..."_

**Eighteen**.

"...-Xion. Xion! …-Up...-Get...-Wake..."

A voice interrupts my dreams; violently and abruptly yanking me out of my sleep. I peel open my eyes, only to close them back again as a sudden reflex to the light that is obviously determined to burn them.

"-7:22...-Now..."

The voice that pulled me out from the dream is fading in and out. I want to know who it is and attempt to open my eyes again, but they are several times heavier than I thought they were. These side-effects of traveling from sleep into the real world are the reason why I hate mornings.

"Stop being lazy and_ get up_, child! You'll be late for school." The voice is becoming clearer now. It rumbles in an intimidating manner. I can tell by its depth in pitch and harshness that it is an elderly male:

He's my "temporary guardian".

I don't need to listen to him.

Sure, now he seems to care about my waking up on time to make sure I won't skip school. If my progress in school starts to drop, "They" will find out about it. Then "They'll" take me to a different "home" because of "unfit guardianship" or something like that. So really, all he wants to do is keep me longer—keep the money coming. He doesn't _really_ care about me. Just like the rest of these foster parents: only in it for the money or their own selfish greed.

Relief comes over my body when I release the tension and stress of trying to get up. I let Ansem's voice fade again as I tune him out. My body is filled with calm and gives out a comfortable sigh of gratitude-

_Splash!_

Suddenly I feel a freezing chill cover my back, legs, arms and face like a liquid blanket of cold. Upon processing this realization, my eyes open instantly. They're released from the weight that held them, and the light is not even close to affecting them. I'm wide awake.

Another cold sensation splashes onto me.

Immediately, I sit up and trip out of the bed, practically hyperventilating from shock, and shiver on the floor.

"Did you just _pour_-?!"

"Now that you've finally decided to wake up, I trust that you won't ever repeat this sloth-like behavior again. Whenever I order you to do something, like waking up in the morning, do it." The rattling of a metal bucket and tapping of footsteps go out of the room and down the stairs.

I sit up on the floor, water from my...everything, dripping on the floor in a perfectly synchronized beat when I finally recover from practically being water-boarded out of sleep.

Strangely, as I rest my head on the palm of my hand, I don't think about this coldly rude awakening, all I can think about is that dream.

It was so different from the ones I usually have. It felt surreal—like all dreams should feel— but it also felt so…_real_. The pain, the sound, the sight of it all; all up until the very last second, the dream pertained to each of my five senses, like I was actually there.

And... that blond boy. I can't help but wonder what mysteries lay behind him. Who was he? Why was he the only person I was making contact with in that "massacre" or whatever it was? Shouldn't I have seen more victims?

I don't know, maybe I'm just over-analyzing it. It's only a dream anyways. Nothing really has to make sense or connect.

I should get ready, before Ansem comes with another bucket of water like the old bastard he is. That whole awakening was so rude, he knew that I could have had an asthma attack by doing that.

Cautiously, I stand up, making sure not to slip on the slick floor. After drying most of myself off with a nearby towel, I go over to my dresser and pick out my clothing for the day. Not like I have very many options, though, because of that wretched clothing policy. You see, gangs and criminal activity are no strangers to this neighborhood, so the school district bans some different assortments of colors. Red, black, green, dark blue, yellow, purple—I really think they should just stop beating around the bush and assign uniforms already. But, you know, what does my opinion matter anyways? I've only just barely found out about this school.

Since I took a shower only a few hours ago, I go to lock the door (which is what I probably should've done in the first place to avoid Ansem's delightful visit to my room) so that I can get dressed into my clothes.

I wear a pair of ripped, faded gray skinny-jeans, a white spaghetti strapped shirt under a half-zipped, orange Hallow High School leather varsity jacket. Ah, the old refreshing smell of cinnamon and burnt pumpkins that's permanently stained within this jacket's stitching. It was a hand-me-down given to me by the Skellington family, who lived in an odd town named Halloween, last winter for Christmas. Of all of the foster families who only took advantage of my benefits, I can definitely say that family was the only one I was less angered about. They legitimately needed the money provided with taking care of me. After their family friend and (for some reason) only source of income, Dr. Finklestein, died, they were close to flat broke. Even though they weren't the happiest or optimistic of people (not saying I am either) after that, I knew deep down they weren't really all bad, and this gift proves just that. That's while I'll always keep it. For them. They made me appreciate the small things.

After donning a pair of fluffy, purple-dyed cotton socks and two white tennis-shoes, I crack open the door and peer outside in a paranoid manner, then grab my lightly packed bag, and quickly maneuver down the staircase, through the parlor, and into the kitchen in record time.

The kitchen is probably the most modern of this spacious "home". It definitely has more class and quality than my living conditions upstairs. My feet just barely graze the granite tile floors before I sense another presence in the kitchen. He's sitting there, in a wooden bar stool, eating a bowl of cereal and whole milk:

The Other One. The other foster child who lives here. Well, no, not fostered per say, he's already been completely and officially adopted. Or at least I think he is. We never talk anywhere past awkward greetings or, "Do you know where the...?"'s. He's quiet and keeps to himself. I'm quiet and keep to myself. I guess you could say that, socially, we were never meant to click.

But somewhere inside me wants to know more about him. I want to break through those silent barriers that keep us at a distance. Discover the truths behind his golden ochroid eyes which cause me such wonder. I want to learn the backstories and background information of this boy named Vanitas. I have to know him. Someday I will...

"...Do you...do you know where the Cheerios are?" But for now, I'll stick with our current form of broken communication. We've only known each other for a few days, after all.

He stares at me, one hand gripped around the spoon, blankly looking at me up and down, analyzing my choice of clothing. I feel self-conscious with his eyes on me, and fidget slightly out of place. Saying nothing, he lifts an eyebrow, then turns his head to look 90 degrees to his right. I follow the direction where his eyes are facing, and suddenly feel stupid. The cereal in question is right beside him, opened.

Only I, evidently, could pay attention to the fact that he always drinks the same type of milk, but completely over-look the actual contents of his cereal bowl. He was one step ahead of me and kept the cereal out, knowing I'd want to eat them. But I didn't notice this obvious detail.

I softly whisper an embarrassed thanks then go to the cupboard and grab a bowl for cereal. After pouring a sufficient amount into the bowl, I go to the refrigerator to get some lactose-free milk. I'm not lactose-intolerant, but I still think that this milk tastes better. I sit in the bar-stool across from Vanitas, and begin eating my first meal.

The whole room is coated with silence. And an awkward one at that. It's caked on the walls, it blankets the floor, surrounds the atmosphere. We sit there like that for a good 10 minutes. It's so sad that Vanitas and I are way too anti-social for our own good.

"Are you two ready for school yet?" For the first time, I'm thankful to hear the voice of Ansem's wife. And I _hate_ her voice. Granted, I hate very many things, but her voice is currently at the top of my list in defiant bold letters. Whether it's the mixture of nasally nagging with a hint of dread, or her noticeable hatred of children sprinkled between her words, I cringe almost every time I hear it.

I don't get how one does _not like_—in fact, _hates,_ children, yet spends half of their life being a pediatric care-taker.

But right now, I'm happy to hear the voice that fills me with so much despair. "Yeah," I say then go to put my bowl in the sink.

"What is this?" The Woman asks.

I turn around and see that she's looking straight at me, her wrinkled mouth painted with red lipstick twitching. "What is… what?"

"What is this _nonsense_ that you're wearing?"

"What's wrong with it?" I ask tentatively, though almost laughing, looking down at my clothing.

"Darling, you're wearing _pants_? And look at how low-cut that undershirt is! My dear, you look like a dumb whore."

Why are these foster parents so intent on making me hate this morning with an intense passion? I look at her, not sure of how to react. Did she really just...?

"Well, aren't you going to go change them, then?"

"No. Why would I do that?" I grit through my teeth, trying my hardest to either not burst out in laughter, or lash out on this woman.

"Because you look..."—her face is filled with utter bliss. What a disgusting sight it is—"… trashy. And dirty. Change into something that makes you look like you're worth anything. Go on." See what I mean? Hatred. There are so many other ways to tell me that she doesn't like my clothes, but she just _had_ to insult my looks, intelligence, and self-worth. Was it even necessary?

"I don't have to put up with this bullshit. Bitch..." I shake my head walk past The Woman, roughly bumping my shoulder into hers.

"What did you just say?"

I almost was out of the kitchen, but the next thing I know, I'm lying down on the kitchen floor, numb pain pulsing in my right eye.

She just hit me.

"Go back into that room, and change those disgusting clothes off. Now, now, now, now!" She kicks me. Hard. Not once, not twice, but four times.

I'm so shocked that the only thing I can do is roll on the floor and writhe in pain, then open one eye to look over to Vanitas. He's completely avoiding all eye contact with the whole situation happening in front of him. I feel a saliva-filled cough come through my throat. Oh no, not saliva, blood.

She stands over me for a few moments, watching me.

I finally summon up enough strength to stumble up again and wipe away the blood from my lips, literally looking death in the face. I touch my injured eye and examine the blood left from the wound on it, opened by her rusty gold wedding band.

The Woman smirks. She's _proud. _Proud of the fact that she could hit a child who was caught off guard.

Her temperament is way too out of control. Who knew that a simple exchange of insults could escalate so quickly? Before she can even attempt to lay another hand on me, I push her away and go straight to the front of the house. Nothing else on my mind except, _get the hell out of there__!_ It starts to become painful to breathe, though, because my airwaves are becoming constricted._ The pain...it isn't real_, I convince myself, _it's only in my head. I'll be fine._

As soon as I reach the front door and open it, I can feel the sudden change in temperature from the brisk winds of outside flow inside. When I step out the house, I hear her yell to me to come back inside, so I slam the door and start to run. I don't know where I'm going, but as long as it's away from there, I'll be fine. The air is cooler than it was earlier this morning, a lot cooler.

My mind starts to register and piece together the events that I just experienced.

This was my first case of abuse.

It wasn't by a drunk father figure angered and depressed, or some perverted old kidnapper determined to take my innocence, or a terrible boyfriend who likes to hit women that he knows are weaker than him; it was an elderly woman. An elderly woman that I've known for a week. An elderly woman that I've known for a week who didn't approve my clothing, was offended by my minor insult, and fueled by God knows what else; then suddenly snapped. I thought that this woman was just hiding her true cowardly self behind a bitter, harsh, and cruel physique only with her demeaning verbal abuse... but physically? I didn't think she had it in her.

My shoes splash in the settled rain puddles as I run. I run by the Clock Tower that strikes the morning hour. I run past the Grande Plaza where the scent of morning coffee and breakfast pastries fill my nostrils. I run far past the hustling and bustling streets of people and cars. I keep running until I can't run anymore.

I look around to the place where my feet have taken me and see that I'm in a wide open field with gentle amber grass glazed with icy frost, like a wintry veldt.

Suddenly, the shock of the pain from her kicks to my chest and the low level of oxygen I'm receiving starts to register in my mind and knocks me back into reality. My body reacts by making my knees tremble. I collapse down and my face collides with the prickly grass, melting the ice under it. My body vigorously coughs and spits up clods of saliva and blood. I cough and wheeze and hold my chest while I try to blink through the pain of my right eye stinging.

And here come the tears.

This is so pathetic. I'm better than this!

As the tears flow like a stream down my face, I hit the ground with my hand in frustration of not being able to keep my composure and for being so...weak and _vulnerable_.

Thoughts begin to encircle my head. Most of them are of the same question:

Why?

Why did I do this? Why did I run? Why did I even come here? Why couldn't I have just kept my mouth shut and just changed my clothes?

What am I even doing here?

And not just this field...but _here_?

What's the point of me always repeating this cycle?

I just realized it. No matter where I go, no matter the next "home" I'm forced to run to, everything seems to be a struggle. Whether it be the fact that I can't make lasting friendships; or that I may get bullied; or that I'm begging for food because of neglective foster families who use the money for drugs; or that one of my so called "Guardians" is really a stubborn abusive old lady—everything in my life has to be some detrimental life-changing experience.

So why, then, do I run and hide and go to a new "home" all the time? Why do I even _try_? What's even the point of living when you have nothing to live for? No one to _die_ for?

What's...the point of even going on?

_You have everything to live for, Xion._

A voice ever-so-slightly brushes my eardrums, it's quiet as the wind, but clear as a siren. I flinch and turn my head to look around the field for the whisper, grass wipes drops of dew on my face. I'm the only one here.

_You just don't see it yet. You just don't see it yet..._

Who...just said that?


	3. First Meeting

**Guardian Angel.**

_. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ._

* * *

After lying in that field for a few more moments, I suffered from an asthma attack.

A severe asthma attack.

It was one of the most horrendous ones I've ever had. The shortness of breath I was experiencing earlier was only the _calm before the storm_.

Not only could I not breathe at that moment, but my head was pounding, almost as if I was feeling the stress of my brain trying to keep my lungs functioning. And the nausea hit worse than it ever had before. My body convulsed and shivered as I choked on my own saliva. A small pang in the bottom of my stomach threatened to cause me to vomit, and my mouth was on the brink of letting everything from inside me just spill out.

It definitely was not my most glamorous moment.

But, in the blur of it all, through the awful feeling of being completely helpless while lying in the middle of a field in well below freezing weather, through questioning my very own existence in the universe— I could only think of the voice I heard. The one that reassured that I "have everything to live for". Yeah, I definitely had my priorities in check. I mean, for all I knew, that voice could've only been a figment of my imagination! It may have just been my inner sense digging up a past memory from inside my mind, convincing me that death by suicide is not the answer.

But then I began to second guess my reasoning. The way that Voice had spoken so subtlety, the way it caressed my ears like silk, the way possessed an indescribable stillness and empowering charisma, was unlike anything I've ever heard before. It had to be something more... Something, maybe even...

But before I got to make a conclusion of what the Voice could've been, I blacked out.

* * *

_"Mrs. Wise kicked you in a very sensitive part of your lower rib cage and upper abdomen," the nurse had said to me while also depicting an X-ray scan of my torso shortly after I woke up. "It damaged this area just below your thoracic cavity: the diaphragm. This caused it not function properly."_

_I guess that bitch's bite is bigger than her bark. "Is that bad?" I asked._

_"Yes, very," they said curtly. "You see, the diaphragm's a muscle that enables air to be sucked into the lungs. But, when she damaged that area, and since you were hyperventilating from shock, your lungs couldn't take in enough oxygen, especially with your constricted trachea. The carbon dioxide build up in your system became too much for your body could handle, eventually you became unconscious and almost completely asphyxiated."_

"_As...phyxiated...?"_

"_Oh, I'm sorry, suffocated."_

_"Will I... Will I be alright_ _now?"_

_"I think you should be fine. Your lungs will just be weak for __a __while and you may suffer from short, uneven breaths, but as long as you follow the bronchodilator treatment the doctor prescribes you to proactively manage your asthma, and stay checked-in for a few more days to recover, you'll be able to live your life how you normally did before."_

_I just __**loved**__ her how she said "normally__", __as if my life was a neatly wrapped box of chocolates._

_She began to take the X-ray scans off the wall. Then, as leaving the room, she said, "The doctor should be here shortly."_

* * *

After being told more news about my health from a doctor, and staying in recovery for two more days, I was discharged from the hospital— only to be brought to an investigator who forced me to re-live the past events that happened in explicit detail. At first I wondered how they even found out exactly who injured me. It turned out that it was Vanitas who called the police and told them about what was happening in the Wise household. My case was not the first time either of the Wise couple had conducted some type of abusive activity on a child, it was far from it.

_"I was just like you," Vanitas had mumbled wistfully while we were being held inside of some kind of waiting hall, waiting to be questioned. He had a regretful look on his face, though an almost angry stare in his eyes as he clenched his jaw. "Well...maybe my case was a little worse." He sighed. "When I was 10, my parents committed suicide. All they left was a note that said, 'We __don't__ ever want you to __believe__ this was your fault Vanitas.' Heh, and they didn't even spell the shit right."_

_"I'm... sorry," I said quietly as chill ran through my bones._

_He went on, "At the time, I hated everything. Nothing could have changed what I felt about the world. Nothing. I mean, how could I not feel that way? My life as I knew it was ruined. So when Social Services told me I was going to have to go into foster care, I knew I had to do anything I could to make those foster parents hate me so I wouldn't have to stay with those bastards for more than a week."_

_"Like what?"_

_He shrugged. "You name it, anything you can think of. Anything to make them not to think twice about kicking me out of their home."_

_"Oh..." Thoughts ran through my head with the possibilities of what he could've done if he really meant 'Anything you can think of__'.__ "So what happened when you got to... the Wise's house?"_

_Vanitas shifted slightly in his seat. "Well, they had to be about the tenth foster home I went to. I had been in the system for like eight months by then, and it was a year and a half after my parents died. The first week I was there, they tried to 'discipline' me or whatever. I ignored whatever they told me to do." He then explained specific encounters of when both Mr. and Mrs. Wise were somewhat passive in situations or very aggressive. "It was… I think, a month I was there when they actually used force."_

_Huh, funny. It took a _week_ for me._

_"They were always threatening to do stuff to me, but I never thought they'd actually do it. But then... Then one night I guess they snapped. Ansem Wise was who hurt me first, then his wife next. You know how they say that those 'tough guys' are really just scared boys inside? Well, that wasn't me...yet. I wasn't even afraid of them after they hurt me the first time. But after being in that abusive atmosphere for a while, it honestly got to me. All I did for a while was stay quiet and not give them a reason to... yeah, you know. So I want to... I want to say sorry for not helping you when-"_

"_No," I interrupted. "I understand. You don't have to apologize."_

"_But-"_

"_Really, it's fine," I replied. Then, in a soft whisper, I said, "I'm just glad... I'm glad the boundaries are broken."_

_"What?" Vanitas asked, looking over at me._

_I slightly chuckled. "Nothing. I hope we-"_

_"Xion Roulette, we need you to answer some more questions. Please come with me," a man at the end of the hall dressed in a black suit said to me._

_I looked at Vanitas, then looked at the man. "Al…__ a__lright." I stood up and waved __bye __to Vanitas, then walked towards the man, my footsteps echoing lightly against the walls. I looked back behind me to catch a last glimpse of Vanitas then smiled. "I... hope we'll meet again."_

"_Definitely." He smiled back, and I walked out of the room._

_That was the first time in a long time that I had an honest smile— the first time in a long time that I had a reason to smile. It felt__… n__ice._

* * *

The next place I was dragged to was to the person I always go to when I get assigned to a new "home": my caseworker.

"_Is... Is this a cellphone?"_

"_Yes. Go ahead, take it."_

"_But why would you by me one?"_

_The caseworker leaned forward and rested her head on her two hands__, __laced by her fingers. "Well, Xion, I spoke with my boss about this case and we both felt it would be best if you had a way of contacting someone in case you're in another dangerous situation like the one you just experienced."_

_I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply when her words triggered my memory of the past event, though my lungs were still weak. I started to raise my hand up to my right eye, but then fought the temptation of touching the bandaged scar._

_"Uh__... T__h__... t__hank you, then. Thank you, Aqua," I whispered in a scratchy, humble voice. I then slid the compact device from its position on the desk then placed it on my lap._

"_No problem." She then began to go over the information of the__ next __family I will be staying with._

* * *

So now here I am; living in a different "home". But this time, I'm in Sunset Hill: Twilight Town's sister town. Not even 15 miles away from the last place I stayed in.

"I think my lips are bigger. Xion, do they look bigger to you?"

"..."

"I mean, they just seem more... luscious you know? Tell me you're not seeing this."

"..."

"Xion, are you listening? I mean _look_ at them. Just look."

"Stop that!"

The girl sits down, a guilty look covers her face like a veil. "Was I... making you uncomfortable again?" she asks.

"Yes." Very much so.

"I'm... I'm really sorry. It's just... I just never really had a real sister before, you know?" And you _still_ don't have one, sweetie. "...So when my father told me that you were going to be staying with us for a _whole year_-"

"-You were really happy."

"Yeah! But then-"

"-You got really scared because you had no idea what to say to me, and what I'd think of you."

"Mmhmm! So...because of that, I may get a little off track with what I say-"

"-and you may get too close, because you don't know what boundaries needn't to be crossed just yet until you get to know me more."

"Exactly!" Her face lights up with glee, but quickly turns into a confused glare. "Wait... how did you know I was gonna say all that stuff?"

Because you've already said "all that stuff" to me twice before.

"Oh, just a lucky guess." I smile to cover my dread.

"Oh, well, that makes sense." She rocks back and forth in her seat on the bottom section of the bunk bed, smiling in a content way. Suddenly, she stands up quickly, stretches her arms, and yawns. "I am so sleepy," she says though her yawn. "Why does school always have to start so early? Ah, anyways, I'm gonna get some breakfast. You want some?"

"No. I'm fine, thank you."

"Suit yourself." She shrugs and walks out of her lavender bedroom filled with other light hues and dark undertones.

Her name is Naminé.

She's a peculiar girl_._ Age fifteen, going on _twenty-one_. Her light complexion is accented with her large, crystal blue eyes, perfectly-aligned, white teeth, and long, _blonde _hair. Now, I'm not one for prejudices and stereotypes, but with her vain personality and short-term memory loss, she doesn't exactly give me a lot of reason to not think that her IQ level is lower-than-average because of her hair color, if you know what I mean.

"Xion! Mom's about to leave for work and she said she can take us to school," Naminé yelled from the kitchen. "We need to be ready to go, like, now, though."

"Alright, here I come," I reply, pulling my jacket on, followed by my backpack.

On the way to school I just barely try to entertain Naminé and her thoughts that lead to nowhere in particular. I then begin to think about how this first day is going to go. Anything could happen, really. I have to admit I'm sort of nervous. Always have been on first days. But I never know why. Maybe it's because I'm insecure about what people think...

"Hey, Xion, you have a phone, right? You should put my number in. You know, so we can keep in touch," Naminé suggests.

"Oh, um, okay..." I really don't want her to have my number, but I guess I have no choice. She hands me her phone, and I hand her mine, and we exchange numbers.

"Thanks! Oh, and look, we're here." She points through the window to a fairly large building.

I unlock and open my door, then step outside of the car. Naminé also gets out on her side, then rushes over to me and links her arm around mine. I make my arm go limp, hoping that she'd get the hint that I don't want her to touch me, but she just tugs my arm tighter. Maybe I expect too much from her.

"Bye, Mom! See you a bit later." Naminé waves goodbye to her mother while slowly walking off.

"Okay," her mother replies out of her open car door window, "see you two later. Oh, and, Naminé? Take good care of Xion."

"Don't worry, we're gonna have lots of fun today. Isn't that right, Xion?"

I look over at Naminé, who has an annoying smile on her face, urging me to reply.

"Um...yeah..." I say warily. "Uh, lots and lots of... fun."

_. R . X . R . X . R . X ._

"Goodnight, Xion. See you in the morning!"

I don't say anything back to Naminé as I walk to the second floor to this house and into my room.

This day was a disaster.

Note to future self: never, ever hang around girls like Naminé and her friends. Especially not after school ends.

Their self-centered-ness, arrogance— if I only had a nickel for each and every time they looked in a mirror, adjusted their makeup, or said "like" I'd be... well, I wouldn't be rich, but... yeah, you get the idea.

Those girls are egotistical whores. Pardon my language.

And the way they talked about other people... It was terrible. I couldn't help but think about if it were me who they were talking about. And how many times it _has_ been me, when I was at different schools. Back then, just hearing a laugh echo behind me made me cringe on the inside. That feeling of not knowing what _I_ must've done to cause that laughter, like _I _was the one who did something wrong, made me feel... well, helpless.

Ugh, I need to take a shower. I need to cleanse the filthy aura that surrounds me just from being around those girls. The upside to this house is that the guest room has its own bathroom.

_. R . X . R . X . R . X ._

I don't feel any better.

Just by being with those girls today, and hearing their awful, venomous words makes me feel terrible inside.

I turn off the light in the bathroom, and also in my bedroom, so that all that I can see is what all I should see: nothing. I close the curtain to my window so that no light, whatsoever, can get in.

I lie down on my bed, and take in a deep breath.

I can't shake this feeling that I have. The guilt of how all I could do was stay quiet, like I always have, makes me feel worse.

"See, that's the problem."

I immediately sit up as my mouth drops open as a clamor of shock rumbles through me...

I'm not alone in here.

But I could've sworn I locked the door to my room.

"N-Naminé...?" I say, sitting up.

"Xion, you have to start speaking up!"

That's not Naminé's voice. In fact, if I'm not mistaken—

It's th-... that Voice! The one I heard in the field. But... how?

"Y...y-you! Y-you're-"

Before I know it, a hand covers by mouth and muffles my impending scream, and I'm pinned to my bed almost in an instant. A pair of bright blue eyes that gleam in the dark hover over me. What the hell is this?!

"Shhh, don't scream. You'll wake everyone up." The pressure on my mouth is lifted, and I can sit up again.

"What are you— Who are you?!"

"SHHH! Didn't I just say not to scream? Lower your voice, Xion."

"How-"

"Shhh!"

I take in a shaky breath, then calm my tone. "How do you know my name? And who are you?!"

My room light flickers on and I shield my eyes from it.

"Okay, okay. I know you have plenty of questions..."

Now that I can see the person, it's a boy. Matter of fact...he's the same boy that was... In my dream. Blond hair and all. But this guy's older. And not beaten senseless.

I am so confused.

"...So I'll try my best to answer all of them."

I'm almost without words, but then gulp and find courage to speak. "I... I only have one question." Well, at least for now.

"Alright. Ask away." He smiles.

"Just who— or what— are you?"

"Well..."

_. R . X . R . X . R . X ._

"You're my... my guardian angel?"

The boy nods.

"And your name is...?"

"Roxas."

"So... does this mean you've come down from heaven? And you were assigned by... 'God' to come protect me or something?"

The blond boy laughs. "You make it seem like The Dead are like some kind of elves in Santa's workshop assigned to give kids presents or something!" he jokes. "Well, Xion, not all of us Angels come down straight from heaven like you think we do. I... I don't know exactly _how_ or _why_ I found you, it's just..." Roxas thinks for a second, trying to find the right explanation. "Hm. You know what? I've an idea. Come on!" He grabs my hand and pulls open the long, black curtain of my room to reveal the glass, circular window. Once he opens the window, he says, "Okay, this might feel a little different at first, but don't be scared. Understand?"

"U-uh..."

"Good." He nods in confirmation, and grabs my wrist, even though I didn't say a word.

And with that, he jumps.

I want to scream. Oh how badly I do. But I can't. My breath has completely gotten knocked out of me. Gone. Stolen. I gasp slightly and hold Roxas' hand tighter; he just keeps steady and strong.

Almost as soon as we hit the ground, a small force holds us and breaks our potentially fatal fall (well, maybe fatal for me, but not him).

It's daylight out now.

What just happened?

From what I can see, everything is... different. The once old-looking neighborhood with decrepit and vine-entwined houses, now looks re-built. Almost as if it's... new. And it feels like a completely different territory than the one I had become accustomed to.

"Welcome to Sunset Hill. November 6th, 1958," Roxas introduces me to the new environment.

I look at him with slight confusion. "So... is this some 'ghost of Christmas past' thing or something?" I ask him, not sure of what to expect.

Roxas only gives me an entertained smile. "No, of course not. That's some fictional tale in a children's storybook. This is all real." He grabs my wrist again, pulling it to him. The Angel begins guide me along the streets.

What is going on?


	4. Hearts, Clubs, Spades, & Diamonds

**Guardian Angel**

_. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ._

* * *

"Hey Angel, or… Roxas, whatever your name is, where are you taking me?! What's going-?"

I'm interrupted by a palm covering my mouth.

"Hush," the Angel says, then pauses, his mysterious glowing eyes never closing to blink as he stares in mine. "Don't question. Just trust. Okay?" He removes his hand from my mouth, only to use it to grip my wrist and pull me along again.

The whole concept of this "guardian angel" is too unbelievable to be true.

I mean, if this person is really what he says he is, then where has this "Angel" been all my life? Where was _he_ when I was crying every day for six weeks straight? Where was _he _when I was so lonely that I felt cramped by my own thoughts?

And is telling me that I had something to live for, _after_ I was beaten by someone, really all he can do for me? All that he can do to help me? Is by telling me a few encouraging words his idea of support? After all the _hell_ I've been through in my life?

Because if it is, then I don't want to be under his "guardianship", or whatever it is.

Why is it _just now_ that he decides to show up—at night, might I add—and make a not-so-extravagant greeting to me?

So, I've concluded that the only reasonable explanation to this seemingly inexplicable phenomenon is:

I'm dreaming. Again.

Why else would he be the same person from my previous dream? And in that field… I must've been delusional when I heard his voice.

But, still… Why does this all feel so _real_?

"Two sea-salt ice creams please," the Angel suddenly says when we go inside some type of 50s style, vintage, retro-looking ice cream shop. In fact, _everything_ looks 50s style, vintage, and retro-looking in this city. "Oh, and one for the Miss, too." He looks at me with a shining smile on his face.

The ice cream man sets three tall glasses on his side of the shiny, black, red, & white, metal counter that matches the color of the bar stools that we sit in, and begins the process of serving us.

"Ahh, this brings back memories. You're lucky, ice cream dates used to be a special treat back in this time. And in the present, they don't even have this flavor anymore."

"So… we went back in time, just so you could get ice cream?"

"Well… we're not necessarily back in time; we're just in a projection of some of my old memories."

"Are you even going to answer my question from earlier?"

"Hm. I guess you're right. We did come here for that, after all." He presses his lips together and smiles with a small sense of content. "Xion, think of life as a card game. It's not always about winning, but simply, about learning.

"Learning… It's an ironic concept, really. Anytime you gain knowledge, it only leads to wanting to learn more, then once you gain that knowledge, you start asking more questions; you never truly _know_ anything. You just learn that there's more to learn…" He mumbles the last part, then takes in a deep breath and smiles again. "So, Xion, take it from me, someone who's had a chance to learn a handful of things in his lifetime…"

"Here's ya three creams, kiddos. Eat 'em before they melt." The ice cream man hands us our bowls filled with an icy, aquamarine substance and shiny silver spoons dug inside.

The Angel thanks the man, then turns to me to speak again, but not after indulging in a scoop of the treat for himself. "The hands we've both been dealt in our lives, Xion… Well, have not exactly been the easiest to play with. But, you see, I've watched you for almost your whole life. I've seen what you've gone through. And now that I can actually converse with you and you can see me, I can finally tell you that you can't just _give up_ when the going gets tough."

"Angel… You can't _possibly_ know what it feels like to know, personally, what I've gone through, though, and how I've felt internally. How can you give me such offensive advice?"

"Xion… You're right. I don't know _personally_ how you've felt, because I'm not you, but that doesn't mean I don't know what it feels like to be at the verge of breaking. Believe me; my whole family was murdered in front of my eyes. I was the last to survive until the man had murdered me."

Wait, what? "Your family was murdered… in front of your eyes?" That isn't exactly the way to drop that kind of news on someone.

I quickly avert my gaze and stare down at my ice cream. The first stage of melting begins to become evident with its sparkly light blue crystals turning into small dew drops that glide down the rest of the ice cream's surface.

He looks at me. Through all of this, his cheery emotions never have faded, his eyes not at all losing their eerie luminosity. A smile spreads on his face out from ear to ear. "Aw, come on, don't be sad, Xion!" He wraps an arm around my shoulder. "Where's that dire passion and anger you had with me just earlier? Don't lose that now because of what I just said. It's just a piece of advice to show you that you can't throw around phrases like 'What's the point of living?' without ever knowing when you _truly have_ nothing to live for."

I swallow a small lump in my throat. How do I reply to this?

"And plus… It's not like I even know them anymore. I mean, I know they were once my parents, but I don't even have any close ties to them now. All of my emotions from the past don't really reach me anymore."

"But Roxas, still..."

He drops his arm from around me. "Come on, Xion. Really, it's fine. I couldn't care that my family and I died now if I tried!" He sighs. "All I know is, after I died, I appeared at some type of light source. It could have been anything, really. Then I saw these… images of you, Xion. You were just a little girl. 6, 7 years old, maybe. Going to your first foster home. You know, the Matthews household."

I remember living in that temporary home, brushing off the fact that I was actually 5, instead of 7.

"You seemed so happy then. You didn't sweat the small stuff, and when something really bad did happen to you, you still stayed smiling. And when I saw those images of you, I felt... I dunno, I felt transformed. I wasn't the same Roxas as before I died. Once I realized that, I was a different... being. Then… I guess you could say I was knocked back down to Earth, and ended up being next to you. My past memories were still with me, but they meant little to nothing to me. All that mattered was this new feeling, and this mysterious little girl that I was next to. As your life went by—I watched. Ever since your journey started—I was there. And I could see how your smile began to disappear as the years went by, until it never showed up again at all. At first, I couldn't do anything to help you when you needed it. But, the more I got used to this experience, the more subtle influences I could have on your life. And, for some reason, when it rained, I had the strongest connection with you..."

Oh. That explains... a lot.

"...Then, finally today, when you turned 15—the same age as me—"

_How_ did I forget that today was even my birthday? Well… it's not like birthdays have always been joyous events for me anyway. Maybe this boy's changing that.

"—our connection was complete. Now, I can talk and interact with you. And, if I want to, with others. But, only when you're around of course."

"Roxas..." I'm almost without words. "That's amazing."

"Yeah. It is, isn't it?"

"So... how did you figure this entire thing out? Did all of these instructions and information just suddenly come to you, or what?"

"Well, no. Not exactly. I did have a lot of questions eventually. Not all of them have been answered, but the ones that have been answered—the answers _did_ just 'suddenly come to me'. Some in different ways."

I nod in agreement, also urging him to keep going on.

Roxas looks lost for a second, but then realizes what I was doing. "Oh, well, like, for example, I wondered if I would stay immortal forever; if I'd have to see you grow old and die. But, as you kept growing older—and closer to my age—I kept feeling these small pulses and changes in my heart. Occasionally, I would feel a full-on heartbeat! And oh how good it'd felt, having that small chance of hope of life beating inside me! And then, when I was finally able to complete our connection with you today, my heart had completely started beating! The life force had come back—almost like I was re-birthed all over again! Oh, Xion! It was wonderful! It took me a while to get used to it, but I eventually got the hang of the rhythm. It felt so wonderful. And it was then when I realized I was never truly immortal… it was just that my heart was waiting for yours... in order to start beating again." I could see his tan face start to get a little color on his cheeks, making it look like a peach.

"... Almost… almost as if we're literal soul mates?" I ask, not looking Roxas but still hiding my inevitable blush.

I can feel him slowly turn his head to face me. "Yeah, I guess you could think of it that way."

I smile, though all of this seems too good to be true.

But then why am I starting to believe it?

"I didn't want to say anything, or reveal myself earlier to you today, since you were around Naminé and all your classmates at school, so I waited for the perfect time, which obviously was when you finished showering and were about to go to bed."

"You know, for an angel, you sure don't act like one."

"Stereotypes… They're a funny thing, aren't they?"

"I guess so." Another question has been sort of gnawing at me, so I decide that this is the time to ask it. ""Are there more of… You?"

He hesitates. "...That's one of my unanswered questions." The Angel's smile goes away for a moment as he looks outside of the big glass window at the vibrant sunset. But, almost as if it were always there, the smile snaps back onto his face. "Just remember to cherish life, Xion. Don't _ever_ use an excuse to stop living. If there's only one thing I can teach you, only one piece of advice I can shed my spectacular supernatural wisdom on, it's that."

"But… If I do die, then I'll be turned into an Angel, with wonderful magical powers to protect the innocent?"

I can tell this question sort of phases him.

"Hmm, who knows? Maybe. Maybe not. All I know is… There's a reason why you were the one I appeared next to that day, so don't think I'll let you die off so easy, now."

This whole big idea just brings up dozens of more questions, but all can do is choose the one most crucial to the moment at hand. "So then… where do we go from here?"

He stands up from his stool and takes the last bite of his second ice cream. "Well, first, we need to get back to present Sunset Hill. And then... after that I guess we'll just have to see what the next hand Life will deal."


	5. Bad Dreams

**Guardian Angel.**

_. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ._

* * *

_Fire._

_It's everywhere._

_It's… hot._

_But I can't feel it. But I know it's burning me. But I cannot feel it._

_My asthma._

_Won't the smoke kill me?_

_But__… t__here is no smoke. __But t__here's fire. But there's no smoke._

_A flash of red hair._

_He's after me._

_But he's a good guy. But he wants to kill me. But he is a good guy._

"..._Burn..."_

_. R . X . R . X . R . X ._

"Roxas, do you ever feel afraid?"

It's been a month since my first encounter with Roxas. A month of bonding. A month of temporarily forgetting my past.

A month of nightmares.

"Afraid? Of what?"

"I don't know. Just afraid of… what's to come, maybe?"

"Well, not in particularly, no. Why?"

"It's nothing… just; I've been having these… nightmares."

Roxas raises a suspicious eyebrow. "What kind of nightmares?"

I shrug slightly. "Nothing too dramatic. A lot of the time it's just fire and… this blazing red head of hair. But still, it's scary as fu-" I catch myself from slipping up. Although he did say that Angels aren't like images we've cropped them into, it's still hard not to think about my actions when around him. "-…uuudge. It's scary as fudge."

"You too, huh? Weird. Well, I guess not, since we kind of share the same soul." He flashes a tiny smile.

"But you know what the really scary part is?" I hesitate slightly. Just thinking about this makes my spine tingle. "The fire… It messes with my head. I can't feel it burning me, and I can't smell anything burning or any smoke or anything, but I just _know _I'm burning, but nothing else is. My senses go all wacky and even my thought process starts to crumble apart. I can barely say complete sentences and I repeat myself a lot… Even a few seconds after I've already woken up and left the nightmare, my mind is still… messed up." I gulp. I've never said anything about it out loud until now. But the question I'm about to ask is what really frightens me. "Roxas… Is what I'm dreaming about- what _we're _dreaming about… Is it… Hell? Am I going to Hell?"

The reason why it frightens me so much is because I've been to a few of my foster care facilitator's churches (Christian, Catholic, and Muslim alike) and they've all preached sermons talking about how if you've sinned—if you didn't follow the big book of rules that God made you in this life—then you didn't really believe in Him, and, as a consequence, you'd spend an eternity… Downstairs. You'd think that that fear would make me want to turn to religion, but it had the exact opposite effect on me. I mean, I've always believed in God—the universe is too vast, too detailed, and too smoothly functioning for me, personally, not to—but I never wanted to commit to a religion and follow some rules that _they _said were right in order to be a Christian/Catholic/Muslim/Whatever other religion. I mean, shouldn't God just accept me for what I am, who I am, and where I am in life if I can accept him as a real person?

But…now that I'm having these dreams, I'm starting to question if my whole reasoning is wrong.

Is it?

"I don't know exactly… _what_ this dream is…" Roxas shook his head. "But we shouldn't jump to conclusions."

"Okay… Yeah." But I still need more answers. "But, Roxas, you know how you said before that when you asked questions the answers would come to you? Well… How did you ask them?"

"Well, there's no big ceremonial ritual or anything. I just… I dunno, I just… asked. I wondered inside of myself, for a while, and then… the answer came to me." He spreads his arms out wide in a '_poof'_ motion and gives me that legendary brightly shining smile that almost matches the glow of his eyes.

"Really?"

"Pretty much. There's really nothing to it."

"Do you think you could ask about this, then?"

"Of course. But, on one condition."

"…Sure?" I say warily, then raise an eyebrow.

Roxas walks on the tacky, multicolored carpet towards me until we are face-to-face. He lifts up his hands and puts them on my cheeks. Before I know it, he pinches his fingers together and pulls my cheeks apart.

"Uhh… What are you doing?" I can barely say through my slightly parted lips with this weird face he's making me do.

"You have to smile!" he answers. "And not one of those fake smiles you try to give off, but a real smile. Then I'll ask about the nightmares, okay?"

I let out a large huff and pulled his hands from off my face. "Roxas…"

"I know you can make one. I've seen you do it before."

"But, I-"

"_Xi! Dinner's ready!"_ I hear Naminé call from outside my door, and the slight clicking of metal as she tries to open it. _"Why is your door locked? You know how Mom feels about locked doors."_

"Roxas," I whisper to the Angel. He nods, already knowing what to do. The next thing I know, he's walking through me, like a ghost.

"_Xion, stop playing around, come on!"_

A chilling emptiness fills my lungs as my breath is again taken away from me. My body freezes for a moment and my muscles stiffen. I want to reply to her, but I can't. Not yet.

"_Xion, what are you doing in there?"_

I finally am able to move and collapse down to my knees and start sucking in air, coughing like a mad-man.

I hate it when we have to do that.

"_Sorry," _Roxas apologizes inside my head.

"_Hello? Xion, are you okay in there?"_

I keep coughing, brushing off both of their comments.

"_Are you having an asthma…? —Oh, my God, Xion, open the door!"_ She starts hitting the door really hard. _"Xion, please, if you're having an asthma attack, tell me!"_

"No, I'm fine," I say in a strained voice, almost coughing again. "Here I come."

I grab the wooden edge of my bed frame and fully stand up straight. I wipe my face off from the slobber that trickled out of it while I was in a comatose state, then hurry to my door so Naminé won't lose her mind.

Naminé jumps slightly and then gives me a surprised and annoyed look. "Jesus Christ, Xion, are you, like, okay? It sounded like you were dying in there! What took you so long?" She stops for a second then leans in closer to me and whispers, "Were you… smoking?"

_Smoking_? How does she figure I was-?

I roll my eyes. One of these days her ignorance is really gonna get to me. "No, Naminé, I wasn't smoking. I just… was uh… choking. On some water. I'm fine, though."

Naminé gives me an unsure look. "Hm…" She presses her lips together and quirks it to the side, as if she's thinking of something. "Okay, I'll believe you for now, but only because I'm hungry." She then puts her hands on my shoulders. "But, Xion, believe me, if you're, like, going through something, you can just tell me, okay? We're sisters, remember?"

"Uh… Y-yeah, sure…" I twitch a smile onto my face. I don't want to dwell on that thought for too long though, so I change the subject. "Um, we should go before your mother starts to get worried too. You know how she is."

"Boy, do I…" she says then removes her hands and begins to walk down the hallway to the stairs. I follow behind her.

"_Sorry, Xion, I'll be more careful so you won't have to lie again,"_ Roxas apologizes again.

"No, it's okay," I say quietly so that it sounds as if I'm saying to myself. "It was my fault. I should've checked the time."

Sometimes, Roxas and I have to do this weird thing where he immediately he goes back into my soul (where he was resting for the past 10 or so years before we officially met that _o__ne fateful night_) when we know that we're going to be away from each other for longer than 10 minutes. If we aren't, then we both suffer from sever migraines that only get worse the longer we're apart. (We found this out a few weeks ago when I needed to take a shower and… well you know how that goes. He couldn't be _everywhere_ with me.) The usual time it takes for him to re-enter my soul is about 5 minutes, so that we can carefully rejoin together without doing any harm to me. Unfortunately, when we don't have enough time to do that, he has to forcefully rejoin souls with me, causing my whole body to freeze completely from involuntary shock. The first time he did it, my heart even slowed down a bit.

And, as stated before, I hate it when we have to do that.

_. R . X . R . X . R . X ._

"Hey, Mom? Since I'm finished eating, can I got to my room?" Naminé asks quickly after she takes her final bite of food. "Please?"

"Naminé, you know I want everyone to finish eating before we leave the table," her mother says. She's a manners freak.

"But, Mom, _please_?" Naminé begs. I don't think I've ever her seen her so anxious for something. Believe me, I went shopping with her once. "I really got finish this, uh… thing I'm doing." She's so vague… Hm, interesting…

"_Curiosity killed the cat,"_ Roxas says.

_And Xion's gonna kill the Angel if he doesn't stop getting into my head_, I think, a smirk creeping up onto my face.

"_Hey! You did it,_" he says excitedly, almost yelling.

"Thanks, Mom!" Naminé gets up, smiles and hugs her mother. She grabs her plate and quickly takes it to the sink, then hurries upstairs. I guess she gave her a free pass this time.

"I did-" I almost say out loud to Roxas, but then realize that I'm still at the table.

_I did what?_

"_You smiled."_

Oh.

_Oh._

_Heh, I guess I did, Roxas… I guess I did._

And it was genuine.

_. R . X . R . X . R . X ._

After I finish eating, I go back upstairs, almost to my room, but see that Naminé's door is slightly cracked open, light just barely shining through the opening. Instead of being a Peeping Tom and watch what she's doing from outside, I just decide to open her door.

There's art… _**e**__**verywhere**__._

On canvases, on posters, in sketchbooks—even the piles of crumpled up paper in a corner seems to be sitting in a designed fashion.

"X-Xion, get out!" She drops a box of oil pastels and immediately stands up, obviously shocked from my presence.

"Why? These are really good," I reply, looking around at all the different paintings, drawings, sketches and supplies spread out across the room.

"_So_?" she hisses. Well, isn't she being a bit feistier than usual. "Haven't you heard of personal space? Get out." Naminé tries to shoo me away.

"Naminé… You're an artist?" I ask her, standing my ground.

"_NO,"_ she denies, but doesn't look so sure of herself. "Kinda…" she admits quietly. "_Argh_, I don't know!" Naminé sits back down on her bed, sliding her hands through her hands, then twirling a lock with one finger.

"How long have you known how to do this?" I ask her, coming up to her bed, still looking around.

"I… I can't remember." Her lip begins to quiver and she lowers her head. "I don't remember ever learning how to draw… Maybe I taught myself how. I just- _ugh, _it's so frustrating!" She hits her head slightly and tears trickle down her cheeks as she begins to whimper, "Why can't I just remember…?"

Well, that escalated quickly. "Naminé, calm down. We'll, uh… figure this out, okay?"

Naminé nods and wipe away her tears, mascara smearing all over her face.

"Just start from the beginning, okay? When did you make all of… _t__hese_?"

"Well, it… started a few weeks ago. Like, the same day you started school, I got a science project on Evolution, that was due the next day." Yet she decided to hang out with her friends. "We had to make one of those diagrams, you know, the one where the monkey… Er, I mean, _Nean…derthal_…" she struggles to say it, "turns into a businessman? I knew that I couldn't draw for shit, but I still had to try, right? So, that night, when we came back home, I started to do my project. The first time, it looked like total crap, like I expected it to. I was about to call it a night and just go to sleep, then turn the 'rough draft' in the next day. But then I realized that I r_eally_ needed a good grade on this—like, at least passing—or else I'd have to take Biology again. I started it again, actually _trying _to draw it and, well, then…" She gets up and goes to a desk with a notebook on it, shuffles through it, then takes a piece of paper out of it.

Naminé hands the paper to me. It looks exactly like the usual diagrams I've seen before. The detail is immaculate, though. It's far beyond what I would've expected of Naminé.

Far.

In fact, all of this art is.

"So… yeah. The day after I turned it in, we got our grades. I got an A on it. An _**A**_. It was my first A in, like, years! I couldn't believe it; it was almost like… like _magic_! So, after that, I decided to keep drawing. I drew on my desks, in textbooks"—great, now she's a vandalist— "… practically any surface I could find, I drew on. One day, after school, instead of hanging out with Kairi and all of them, I actually went to one of the art rooms in school and asked if I could rent some supplies, and the art teacher let me. So, any chance I get I try and test my art abilities and see what more I can do. It's kind of weird, though, to be able to figure out I can do all of this stuff, y'know? Being told by doctors my whole life, that I wouldn't be able to graduate high school unless I took _'special needs classes'_ really made me feel bad about myself. I refused to take them, of course, because I didn't want other kids to think I was stupid or anything, but then my memory started to get worse. I couldn't remember anything without being told more than three times, I forgot my friends names… one time, I couldn't even remember my mom's name. I eventually gave up on trying to do really _anything_ except for focusing on staying with my friends and keeping what little memory I had. But, I mean… I feel like, for the first time in a long time, I am starting to uncover something about me that was once forgotten, y'know? Without any, like, help from doctors or prescription pills…" she trails off, but then looks at me with hopeful eyes. "And… I also feel like this memory, this event, me being able to draw, is going to stick. And it's a nice feeling that I don't wanna let go."

Wow.

Not only has that been some of the most interesting things I've ever heard from her, but I found out a small piece of what Naminé actually goes through in her mind. I mean, I really thought down about her for not being able to remember anything, but now I realize that she also has some day-to-day battles she has to face in her life, but she still gets through it…

Instead of complaining about her life, like my sorry ass.

Her and Roxas have really been a wakeup call in my life.

"Naminé, you…" I start, but can't finish, because suddenly I feel… I feel kind of…

Headache.

Un… What's… happening?

Oh, no_, it's_ happening. It is happening.

But no sleep. But it's happening. But no sleep.

"_Xion… -Okay?"_

Naminé.

Noise fading out.

"_Mom! Xion… -not okay."_

Can't hear.

Light going away.

Can't see. But I can feel it. I can feel the fire.

Black flames?

Roxas, it hurts.

I'm sorry, Xion. But it hurts. But I'm sorry, Xion.


	6. I'm Sorry, Xion

**Guardian Angel.**

_. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ._

* * *

**R**_o_**x**_a_**s**'** P**_o_**i**_n_**t **_O_**f **_V_**i**_e_**w**

I'm sorry, Xion.

It's all my fault. All of it.

_I'm_ the reason that demon is targeting you. _I'm _the reason you have all of these burns on your body. _I'm_ the reason you have to move again—even though you just got comfortable around Naminé.

And… I'm sorry even more so because I know the date you're going to die.

It's all because of this stupid clock engraved in my chest. Each painful tick that winds around my heart reminds me that you have one less second to live.

I hate it.

No one—not even a spiritual being like me—should have to bear this kind of information.

Everything is falling to pieces.

And I know I need to tell Xion about this—I just don't know _how_.

God has given me all the information I _don't_ need to know, but when I'm calling on Him now, pleading He gives me the answers—it's not there.

Maybe I'm supposed to figure it out myself? I mean, if God gave me _all_ the answers, I guess living all over again would be kind of pointless. But all I need is this _one_ answer. If I could only just get the name if the demon that's terrorizing me and Xion, maybe I can get rid of it.

(sigh) I dunno… I just don't know.

* * *

**X**_i_**o**_n_**'**_s _**P**_o_**i**_n_**t **_O_**f **_V_**i**_e_**w**

"I'm sorry, Xion."

You know what's worse than passing out then waking up in a hospital days later, hooked to a million machines, then finding out that you mysteriously acquired two second degree burns on your neck and left hand, and a third degree burn on your lower back?

Learning that you are being forced to move away from someone you finally start to care about.

"But… You can't do this to me! Not now!" I shouldn't be begging like this, it's not very characteristic of me, but it's the third round of mine and Aqua's argument and none of my other methods have been working.

Now, the bell for the final round has rung and the game already begun.

I can even hear the boxing match announcer inside my head: '_Xion has already lost the first two battles. And though it was unthinkable, she was offered to fight—and hopefully win—this final, all-or-nothing brawl!__'_

I can't lose.

"Xion, you of all people should know how this system works. If we believe you're in danger—in any way, shape, or form—then we move you to another place. It's the law and how it's always been."

'_The Caseworker's truthful words take a left hook at Xion's unguarded ear and deliver a powerful blow!__'_the announcer shouts._'__Whoa-oh. Looks like Xion's cornered by an unavoidable realization of who her opponent really is. The Caseworker is no normal fighter. Unlike most members of Human & Social Services, she's fast and gets straight to the point instead of dragging a fight along.__'_

"This isn't exactly breaking news, Xion," Aqua finishes.

'_A right hook to the jaw. That was a big one!__'_

My now bruised jaw begins to speak back to her against my own will. I'm thinking of changing my tactic and use my opponent's methods against her: say the truth and attempt to hit hard and fast with any type of blow I can—just like her. Except, I'll be louder. "So? That doesn't mean I just have to be okay with it! Plus, you of _all people_ should know that I wouldn't fucking lie to you about something like this, Aqua. I'm telling you that this is a mistake. Those people are no danger to me at all. Think about it, how many times have I asked—no, _pleaded_—that I _stay_ at a foster house? How many?"

No voiced answer. Just a cynical sigh.

'_Looks like the tables may have turned on The Caseworker as Xion begins to fight back.__'_

"Fucking tell me, Aqua! Because I'd really like to know," I yell in a tone laced with venom.

Aqua raises an unimpressed eyebrow when I spew more curse words out under my breath, showing my growing frustration. I'm losing my composure.

'_Ooohhh but our mammoth of a champion isn't giving up. Xion's hits aren't getting through her iron physique.__'_

Aqua has developed a resistance to her own element of fierce reality. I guess I can't say I'm completely shocked, though. I'm probably not the first kid to yell and use rash words with her.

"Watch your _mouth_ around me, young lady," she finally responds. The hits aren't as potent this time, but powerful none-the-least. "Do I really have to even need to give you a 'lecture' on what's respectful and disrespectful—?"

"No, you don't, Aqua. You don't," I interrupt, my voice lowered.

'_Now they seem to be going back and forth with hard kicks and punches. It's hard to tell which one of them is going to come out on top at this point—it's anybody's game.__'_

I start to revert back to my original stance of being calm, but I still give Aqua a bitter glare, hoping to achieve the same amount of effect without as much backfire from her. Her look doesn't waver, though; her gaze doesn't soften.

'_Xion may not know this, but her opponent has seen this back-and-forth, angry then calm method all too many times before. I wonder The Caseworker still even feels the hits these contenders deliver anymore.__'_

"All I'm asking you to do is answer my question. That's it."

Aqua gives me a blank look that I can't read. It's always hard to tell what she's thinking.

"…Not once," she finally answers after some seemingly forced hesitation.

"Not once," I mock sarcastically. "So why then, Aqua, do you think I'd lie to you now? About something like this?"

Silence.

'_Well, folks, it looks like we've reached a stand-still.__'_

The woman shakes her head while sighing then presses her lips together and tucks a lock of her uniquely attributed blue hair behind one of her ears. She takes in a deep breath before saying, "The truth of the matter is, it's not about whether I believe your story or not, or even what I think at all." _'__Oh no, I think Aqua's about to conduct her finishing move! I'm not sure if Xion'll be able to handle the Blunt Truth—it's one of Aqua's deadliest moves. No one's EVER been able to survive this one!__'_ "It's about whether the Department of Human Services believes you are in a fit environment to live. And if not, you go to a place where they think you belong."

'_And here it is! Uppercut, left hook, roundhouse kick…!__'_

"But, Aqua, I'm _telling_ you—"

"Just be glad they aren't taking those people to jail. If those burns on your body weren't the only evidence they had, Human Services wouldn't hesitate to press charges on them."

'_The crowd is wild! It's all over, folks. Xion's out cold. Once again, for the third time, _The Caseworker is the victor!_'_

Just when I thought I was gaining some ground, she used her fucking trump card.

Fuck.

* * *

"_I'm sorry, Xion_," Roxas says whole-heartedly inside me as I ride in Aqua's car.

After giving a short goodbye to Naminé and her family (a small pity wish granted to me by Aqua), we had to leave immediately to a place called the Land of Departure. I've never been to this town, but all I've ever heard was good things about it by word-of-mouth. Aqua says that she _"personally"_ (she put _so_ much emphasis on "personally") knows the foster care taker facilitator and she's sure that nothing wrong will go wrong at this house, unlike the many others I've been to; so maybe this "home" will be a keeper.

Ha. Yeah right.

"_You don't have to apologize, Roxas. I'm alright," _I reply back.

"_I know, but… If it weren't for me you wouldn't have those burns on your body, and you wouldn't have__had to move—"_

"_Well then, maybe that'll stop teaching you to be a lazy a…—butt—" _I'm still watching myself when talking directly to him _"—and not fall asleep inside of me."_

Based on his sudden pause, I can tell Roxas now is wearing an embarrassed blush. I crack a small smile at his nervousness. This is the first time I've felt like I've had some control over this guy. It's nice.

"_Xion…"_

"_Roxas, it's okay. I don't want you to feel bad about any of this. I'm used to moving, to be completely honest. Sure I'm gonna miss them, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna stop living my life over obstacles like this. I'm gonna keep moving on from my troubles—just like life, because it also goes on."_

This time, I can tell he's not blushing, but smiling. The angel's bouncing back.

"…_I've taught you well,"_ he says.

"_That you have," _I reply back, smiling again.

"You should do it more," I suddenly hear Aqua say to me while giving me a quick glance then putting her eyes back on the road.

"What?"

"Smile. It brightens up the atmosphere."

She noticed me smiling? Is it really that obvious? "Uh… Thanks…"

"I really do mean it, you know."

(sigh) You know, even though she's brutal, Aqua's the closest thing to the mother I never had.

Now, don't get ahead too of yourselves, I'm not going to talk about how I wish I could move in with her so we could have a happily-ever-after ending (because I know that's not just gonna happen); I'm just saying that she really is a strong, tough-loving woman role model who, even though she gets on my_ last nerve_ at times, I know I will—and already in some ways, have—look up to and thank her for trying her best to make sure that I really am safe.

"_Xion, how sorry I am isn't all I want to talk about, though," _Roxas says in a serious tone.

"_Okay. What else do you want to talk about?"_

"_It's about these nightmares and the effect they have on you."_

"_Did you ask about them?"_

"_Yeah. I found out the cause of them is…" _He hesitates for a while, as if it's painful information._ "…is a demon."_

My eyes widen and immediately a bolt of fear lights in my chest. That was unexpected… Yet somewhere deep inside I knew that there couldn't be just one end of spiritual beings around me. _"A… A demon? Do you think he was the one who had the… red hair inside the dream?"_

"_Possibly. And, Xion, I can tell this is probably a scary thought, but there's nothing to be afraid of. I'm going to protect you, remember? They don't call me a Guardian for no reason, you know."_

"_Alright…" _I say, a little assurance restored inside me. _"Is… that all you found out about the dreams?"_

"_Pretty much, yeah."_

"_Okay... So, what do you have to do to… stop it?"_

"_Well, first I have to learn the demon's name."_

"_But, isn't that what you need to do for an exorcism?" _I think, panicked. _"Is that demon inside of me?!"_

"_No! No, no, no. It isn't. I promise it isn't."_

"_Then why do you need its name?"_

"_That's just how it works, Xion. Names are one of the most important qualities a human possesses. Once you put a name to something, you immediately know of it more."_

What? _"I don't get it."_

"_Think about it: even though I'm an angel and you a mere human, our relationship has much more depth to it. That's because you know that my name is Roxas, and therefore you know that I can't just go under the stereotypes that angels are labeled with—you know, holy, divine, happy, or believes that all who have sinned should go to hell—but that I am so much more. I'm not just an angel, I'm Roxas. You're not just a girl, or a human, or an orphan, but you're Xion. A name creates more depth in a good or bad relationship, make sense?"_

"_I guess… So how is that supposed to help you get rid of the demon, then?"_

"_Knowing that information allows me to gain power over it. When I know its name, I know something about it that few others have been able to find out. So when I speak the name, it'll give me the upper hand."_

"_Are you sure that's all you need to do? Just say the demon's name?"_

"_That, and have a little faith. Life and death is in the power of the tongue, you know."_

"_Simple as that?"_

"_I wouldn't say 'simple'. Just getting the name is gonna be __tough__. It's gonna take some time, too."_

"_Oh… But, how am I supposed to sleep until then?"_

Before Roxas gets to answer, the car comes to a halt.

"We're here," Aqua says, a relieved smile on her face.

I lift my head off the car's glass window then look outside to see that we're in front of a large, ivory-painted, wooden house. Judging by the windows that stack up on top of each other, the house is three floors in height and—since I see small windows at the very bottom—has a basement. Even from this distance, I can clearly see that there are chips in paint and worn-out, dirt-stained wooden shingles on the roof. This house is old.

I cringe inwardly.

Though it doesn't look as bad as some houses I've seen—not by a long shot—memories of stale attics, icy concrete floors, and dirty rooms begin to surface in my mind. Old houses are always bad signs.

Many skeptical questions begin to erupt at once in my mind.

What if this "home" is just as bad as the others?

What if it's worse?

Will I go through abuse or neglect again?

When Aqua opens her door and gets out of the car, a small part of me wants to grab her hand and pull her back in, asking her if we can go back to Naminé's house for just a little longer. But the bigger part of me knows that that isn't possible anymore.

Now that I'm here, I've got to stay.

I wrap my fingers around the car door and take in a deep breath… Then another… And a third for good measure… A fourth helps even more…

"_You can do it."_

I grip the handle and pull inward, then push.

Once my feet touch the land which they have never treaded on before, I hear the trunk of Aqua's car close and she stands confidently before me.

"Xion, you'll be fine at this house. I promise," she says with a—you guessed it—smile. She even manages to throw in a chuckle.

I just nod then fully get out of the car and take one of my bags away from Aqua. Her smile weakens as she turns around, heading towards the house.

We walk along a stone pathway through the front lawn filled with dead flowers and tan grass with only a few patches of green sticking out. Small dollops of snow form piles of shapeless white in random places on the lawn.

Before I know it, we're at the front door of the house. Aqua presses the dusty, amber, rectangular doorbell and a short tune plays behind the door.

An obnoxious barking of a dog echoes and I hear scratching.

"_Down, Pluto, down!" _an old, gruff voice commands behind the door. Soon the door is opened to reveal a tall man with strong, chiseled facial features, stern, brown eyes, dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, and goatee-like facial hair stretching into a smile. He looks as if he's straight out of an old Kung Fu film.

Next to him is a fully grown, tan dog with a green collar and gold tags. He playfully wags his tail and pants heavily with his tongue out of his seemingly smiling mouth. Ha, even the dog is smiling. Everything is sunrays and gumdrops around here, isn't it?

Though the man may seem intimidating—even with his smile on his face—he quickly softens his gaze at the sight of me and Aqua standing at the door.

"Master Eraqus!" Aqua greets as she bows her head in honor.

"Aqua, you made it," he replies, also bowing.

"Master, this is Xion," she introduces me. "Xion, this is a family friend of mine: Master Eraqus."

I quirk my head to the side. "Master?"

"He taught me martial arts as a kid, so I had to call him 'master'. Eventually, the name stuck," Aqua explains.

"Oh." I look back up to Eraqus. "Um, hello, Eraqus. Nice to meet you."

"A pleasure to meet you too." He bows to me. They seem to do that a lot. "Come on in. And here, let me take those for you."

Eraqus grabs the bag in my hand and Aqua sets the ones she has down so he can take it.

"Thank you," Aqua says as he follows behind us into the house.

The inside of here is a lot nicer than outside. It's a lot cleaner than I expected too.

"Pence, Vanitas, Olette!" Eraqus calls upstairs once he finishes setting down my bags.

Wait.

Vanitas?

The Vanitas _I_ know, Vanitas? _That_ one?

"You kids come greet our new guest," Eraqus finishes.

Small paced creaks groan on the stairs as only one girl who looks a bit younger than me—about 12—with soft reddish cheeks, large green eyes, and long brunette hair—some tied into two braided ponytails and some sticking out right above them. She wears this orange shirt with white, Hawaiian-style flowers on them.

She's adorable.

"Where are Pence and Vanitas?" Eraqus asks her, whom I'm guessing is Olette.

Olette shrugs. "I just woke up."

Suddenly, I hear the loud thumps of two pairs of feet coming down the stairs.

Then I seem him: The Other One.

I see the boy who once shielded off himself from the world with a mysterious, silent barrier then, at a time when all we had was each other, opened himself up to me and I to him.

Gold eyes, black hair, and all. Except this time he is wearing a white T-shirt and silver basketball shorts.

Next to him is a small, pudgy kid who looks just a few years younger than Olette. He also has brunet hair—except his hair sticks up and stays that way because of a thick head band—and his eyes are brown. He wears a long, red basketball jersey and a pair of jeans.

He, too, is adorable.

But that's not the important issue at hand.

"Here we a—" Vanitas says then immediately stops in his tracks once he gains sight of who's here. "_Xion_?"

"What are you doing here, Vanitas?" I ask, and then turn to Aqua. "What is he doing here, Aqua?"

Aqua gives me a knowing smile then shrugs. "Master Eraqus is a certified foster care facilitator. I had to pull some strings in order to get you here, because I knew this was the best place for you right now, but Vanitas was ordered to live here by the state. Honestly, I had nothing to with it."

Vanitas shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "Well, isn't that one hell of a coincidence."

Eraqus tenses his jaw and gives Vanitas a glare, then sighs while saying, "Don't curse around me, son." I wouldn't call "hell" a curse word, but, who am I to judge? "Now, be a gentleman and show Xion the room she's supposed to be staying in."

Vanitas stretches a small smirk onto his face and crosses his arms. "Whatever you say, _'Master'_ Eraqus. Come on up, Xion." He motions me to come up the stairs coolly then begins to ascend back up them.

"That one's gonna need some discipline, isn't he?" Eraqus sighs while Aqua stifles a giggle.

I awkwardly begin my quick climb of the stairs as they begin to talk and catch up more. As I walk up, some stairs emit small, unnoticeable squeaks while others almost roar deep creaks like they're on the verge of falling apart.

Once up the flight of stairs and on the second floor, I see that Vanitas is leaning on a wall next to a door that is brown and unpainted, in contrast to the rest of the cream and off-white hallway.

Vanitas gives me a sly look as I walk past him, guessing that the door he's next to is the one that leads to the inside of my room. I open it and my guess is confirmed when I see a full-sized bed, a nightstand next to it that holds a black lamp and digital alarm clock, and many other qualities of a normal bedroom.

"Pretty decent compared to an attic, huh?" Vanitas says, walking into my room behind me.

I shrug. "I guess. But, I must admit, nothing can replace constant chill and gross, dusty, musty, old-people fragrance in the air. Oh, how I'll miss it," I say sarcastically.

"Well, look who's not so gloomy anymore. Haven't you already moved, like, twice already? What got into you?" He gives me that sly look again.

"Nothing," I reply. "I've just been learning not to get hung up about moving anymore. I'm now realizing and observing the essence of change: it's inevitable. So why try to prevent it? In fact, change is the only thing that stays constant."

"Wow. Sounds like you got that straight from a fortune cookie."

"Nah. More like a higher power," I retort.

"You've turned to religion now?"

"No, not really. But it never hurt anyone to have a little faith in _something_, did it?" I can tell he is about to reply with a smart comment, so before any words came out of his mouth, I say, "Don't answer that," then sit down on my firm bed clad in a black comforter and two white pillows.

When I look up, I see Vanitas is still giving me that look.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" I ask, feeling self-conscious again like when he looked at me when I was wearing my 'controversial' outfit at the Wise' house, except he isn't giving me the same look as back then. My perception may be off, but he looks hungry and lustful towards me.

Just kidding.

He really just looks curious. And I wanna know why. I actually feel like I _have_ to. Maybe I'm the only one he'll ever feel comfortable with telling stuff to.

Vanitas shakes his head and shrugs. "S'nothing, it's just…" he says quietly then looks up at me. "It's just fucking ironic."

"What is?"

He sighs. "Biological families are torn apart, many siblings never see each other because of this system—and yet, here we are, two only children orphans, meeting again. And we barely even knew each other outside of the Wise's house."

"Hm… Yeah, I guess you're right. It is ironic."

I look down into my lap and begin to fiddle with my fingers. An awkward silence begins to fill the atmosphere.

"Vanitas!" I hear a young voice call as footsteps slightly vibrate the floor, getting heavier as they get closer. Soon, the little boy from earlier—Pence, I think his name was—comes into my room and clutches Vanitas' shirt and lightly pulls. "Vanitas._ Video game_! Can we finish playing it now?"

"Uh… Sure…" Vanitas mumbles, grabbing Pence' wrist, making him loosen his grip on Vanitas' shirt. "I'll see you around, Xion."

"Yeah." I nod. Pence gives me a small wave then hurries out of the room.

Always leave it to a little kid to destroy even the most noiseless and awkward of silences.

_. R . X . R . X . R . X ._

**Naminé: **im sorry Xion.  
11/17/13 11:58 P.M.

**Me: **Its okay Namine. Ths place is pretty nice and isnt bad like other foster homes ive been to ill be fine  
Sent: 12:02 A.M.

**Naminé:** yeah but still… i miss u. and i wish that i could change aquas mind.  
11/18/13 12:02 A.M.

**Me:** I miss u too…but itll be ok. Text me wenever u can okay?  
Sent: 12:03 A.M.

**Naminé:** of course! i gotta go to sleep now. mom hates it wen i stay up late so talk to u later :]  
11/18/13 12:04 A.M.

**Me:** For sure. Talk to u later  
Sent: 12:04 A.M.

When all was said and done and everything I owned was yet again unpacked, reorganized, and put away, and I was settled in with this new family, the night fell. I then started texting Naminé who decided to hit me up for a random late-night conversation.

I finally lie down, clad in pajamas and stare up at the ceiling for a while, just thinking random thoughts and contemplating life.

But all I'm really doing is stalling.

It hasn't really hit me until now, but…

I'm terrified of sleeping.

That demon…

Now that I know _what_ it is that gave me the dreams and caused me to burn, I don't feel any type of safety or security that I had when it was day time and I was staying busy, not worrying about anything and living off of Roxas' assuring words to me that it would be okay. But now, as the skin around my hand, neck, and lower back begins to heat up as if they're about to be ignited all over again, all of that fuel of assurance has evaporated away if not already converted into fear that is beginning to power the fire which threatens to kill me if I go to sleep.

I don't have very much memory of what happened in the last dream I had—the one that caused me to be in a hospital—but whatever was happening during that time I was asleep makes my conscience never want to rest again.

I think I'm traumatized.

Just thinking about the flaming red hair of the demon and a silhouette of a figure that I saw in my dream strikes a trembling fear within me and floods me with dread. Its voice even still haunts my mind.

"…_Burn…"_ it said before.

And that's what I did.

"Roxas…" I blurt aloud to him instead of thinking it. We haven't talked very much all day and I really feel like I should now. "Could you… could come out? I can't sleep."

"_Sure,"_ he says.

This numbing buzz ripples through my whole body—like how it feels when your arm falls asleep—and eventually Roxas appears in front of me. Him quickly separating our souls isn't painful like quickly putting them together. It's more of a release, if anything.

Everything is completely silent for a moment as I look into Roxas' eyes and he into mine.

"_Can you still read my thoughts?"_ I then think to Roxas, never knowing the exact extent of his powers.

"_Yeah," _I then hear his voice tell me softly inside my head. "_You can read mine too if you try hard enough. I promise it won't be me thinking inside of your head. You can genuinely hear what I'm thinking."_

I try to concentrate very hard so that I can see if any sound comes out from his head and into my ears.

Though it's very quiet and distorted, I can make out three simple words that are spoken with a voice that possesses a charismatic and majestic tone: _"Be not afraid."_

"Did you hear it?" Roxas says out loud with the same strength and stillness as in my head.

"Yeah." I nod, excitedly. I just read an angel's mind, how cool is that? "I did."

"What you heard is true, then. There's no reason to fear this thing. The only thing that fear does is let that evil spirit have control over you." Roxas grabs my left hand—the one with a burn on it—and draws circles in my palm. "I'll protect you."

"How can you be so sure, though?" I say, then think, _"You… you didn't protect me before."_

"And Man has never found the words with the right amount of letters or just the right sound to make you even fathom how deeply sorry I am for everything that has happened… But that was before. This is now." Roxas takes in a deep breath, then takes my hand and slides it up his…

His shirt.

Oh God, what the fuck is he—

"Xion, can you feel my heart beating?"

My hand tenses and my face heats up at our closeness and I only nod my head. I'm speechless. This was… so unexpected of him.

Then again, he always seems to find a way to surprise me.

"You remember that I told you that it was waiting for yours to start beating again?" Roxas asks.

"Y…Y-yeah," I reply.

"Then you replied that we're soul mates—do you remember?"

"Yes. Yes, I remember…" What is he getting at?

"Xion, do you really, truly understand what that means? Those beats right there, that steady and energetic pulse—they mean I'll always be with you. No matter what. I'll be here, even though the night has fallen and troubles may seem to rise—I will be here with you."

"But… what if it happens again?" What if… I get burned again?

"It's not going to happen again."

"How do _I_ know that?"

"You don't," he answers truthfully. "You'll never know it won't happen until it doesn't." He then takes in a deep breath while squeezing my cold hand, still on his warm chest. "Xion, you know that film you really like? _Inception_, was it?"

He really wants me to remember a lot of stuff today. "Yeah, I do."

"Do you remember that riddle Cobb and Mal used to say to each other?"

"Mhmm." I nod.

"Then, pretend that the train is a metaphor for sleeping. And that we're _both_ about to ride it."

"I'll… try."

I sharply inhale at the thought then let it out through my nose; sleep creeping up on my eyelids, making them droop.

But I can't sleep.

Because what if…

God, just _**what if**_?

"You're waiting for a train," Roxas then begins to recite the riddle from _Inception_, "a train that will take you far away. You know where you _hope_ this train will take you, but you don't know for sure. But it doesn't matter. How can it not matter to you where the train will take you?"

I bite my lip, knowing the exact words I have to say. "Because we'll be together."

Roxas wraps his arms around me in a close embrace. "Forever and always."

Then I close my eyes.


	7. Intervention with a Demon

**Guardian Angel  
**_. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ._

* * *

**R**_o_**x**_a_**s**'** P**_o_**i**_n_**t **_O_**f **_V_**i**_e_**w**

"She's a cute little thing when she sleeps… isn't she?"

I can feel the heat. The infamous, blazing heat that haunted Xion in her dreams when either of us fell asleep. The traumatizing, scalding heat that creeps out from her mind and burns her in reality.

For a few hours after Xion went to sleep, I stayed awake, watching over her to make sure that she's safe. I began to drift off, though, after a while. But the sound of a voice and the rising of the temperature in the room quickly jerks me out of my slumber. I quickly raise my head from the pillow next to Xion's and scan the room for the source.

There he is.

A dark figure sitting next to Xion, lightly stroking her cheek. If it hadn't been for his familiar, distinguishably red hair, I'd think he was just any old sick pervert trying to harm Xion. But I know he's something more. Much, much more.

Instinctively, I am about to open my mouth to yell, "What are _you _doing here?" but a force closes my mouth tightly shut and my body suddenly freezes in place. No matter how much I struggle, my body won't budge.

"Ah, ah, ah~," a voice as cunning as the Devil himself says sinisterly. "Better keep your fucking voice down. Wouldn't want to wake up the little angel… would you?"

His cocky grin turns cold as I give him one of the nastiest, iciest glares my eyes can give. He stands up from Xion's side and begins to take slow steps around the bed and in my direction. With a quick twitch of a finger, the force in my jaw that kept my mouth clenched now releases; but the rest of my body still remains locked in invisible chains.

In a the loudest voice possible in a whisper, I begin to say, "Get _away_—"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Why so serious, Rox? Shit, I haven't even done anything to her. Well, at least… not yet, I haven't."

What a liar. Is he really forgetting that he _burned_ her? I haven't even been around this guy for five minutes and I'm already done with his games.

His smile spreads back onto his face as if it had never left when he walks back over to Xion. I can barely hear him when he whispers, "And to think… We're so close…"

His fingers nearly graze her face when I practically yell, "If you touch her again, I swear I'll—"

"You'll what, Rox? Kill me? Heh, sorry to break it to ya, but that shit's not gonna happen."

"…Oh, really? And why is that?"

He shrugs. "Well, to put it plain and simply—you _can't_. You see, we're the same. Ever heard of 'friendly fire', Rox? You can't hurt a dude who's on the same team as you are. I can't hurt you and you _can't_ hurt me."

What is he talking about, '_On the same team_'? That's impossible. "I'd never be on the same side as you." How could that thought have ever even cross his mind?

"But, aha, yes you are!" He stands up and clasps his hands together. "Actually, it's a bit funny that you mentioned that because you _just_ reminded me of the exact reason that I'm here: to try to get you to remember everything. The Boss Man's getting impatient. He was hoping that you could hurry up and get your assignment done sooner, but since your memory of everything is fucked… that's gonna be a tricky thing to—"

"You're making no sense and you obviously know I don't know what you're talking about," I interrupt. "So how about you just cut to the part where you tell me your name and why you're messing with Xion, alright?"

The demon stands up and walks back over to me. I grit my teeth at the smoky stench that gets more and more pungent the closer he gets to me.

"Well, you see, Rox, if you _really_ want to know why, then we've got to fix that shit memory of yours." By this time, he's right in my face. His eyes are green: a color which symbolizes life and nature. But the look in his eyes and that smoky smell of his that burns my nostrils shows that he represents anything but life. "Plan _X_? Recusant's Sigil? Nobodies? _Any _of that shit ringin' a bell to you?"

I sigh. I swear I'll get nowhere at this rate. The room is just beginning to turn into a bluish tint from the dim light outside. I look at the clock on the nightstand on my side of the room and see that it is already a quarter 'til six in the morning. Xion usually wakes up in a few hours, but with the light getting ready to shine through the curtains and the noise the demon and I are making, she just may wake up sooner.

Now noticing the gravity of the situation I'm in, I'm left with no choice and start to do something I should have begun to do in the first place:

I pray.

_God, take this demon away in the name of—_

The demon begins to laugh maniacally. "You _actually_ think that's gonna _work_, Rox? Wow, now I know for _sure_ you're fucked up in the head." The demon then sighs, scratching the back of his red head. "Man… Guess that just means more work for me—I gotta start from the _fucking_ beginning. This whole 'amnesia' thing really is gonna become a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

I still don't know what he's talking about. But I do know that all he wants to do is provoke and distract me from praying, but this isn't enough to persuade me from doing all I can do to stop him while my body is paralyzed.

"Man, it's pathetic and almost painful seeing you like this, Rox. Tch, _praying._ Seriously, if you only hadn't forgotten about who you are, you wouldn't even dare say the word 'God'."

I still keep praying.

"Hm, you think you're an angel, right? Do you even know a thing about angels?"

…

"No answer, huh? Exactly. If you actually cracked open that 'Good Book' that you praise so much, you'd know that if you really _were_ an angel, you wouldn't have any memory of being a fucking human because humans don't turn into angels when they die. They just go to heaven, but don't turn into angels." Before he gets to continue, something in the pocket of his cloak beeps, causing the demon to slightly jump and Xion to stir on her bed. He pulls out some kind of device and looks at it for a moment, then sighs. "Guess it's time for my departure. I'll have to wait another day to tell you about all of this. Man, Xemnas'll be so fucking pissed when he hears about this…" The demon shrugs. "Eh, I guess there's nothing we can do about it right now, though."

He looks at me dead in the eyes as he opens some type of black portal that doesn't seem to lead to anything but pure darkness.

"By the way, I know you were told this, but I'm not a demon. The name's Axel, got it memorized?"

He leaves without another word.


	8. Thank you, Roxas

**Guardian Angel  
**_. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ._

* * *

Some dreams are good. Some dreams are bad. Some dreams aren't even remembered at all.

Sometimes, it's not a factor of remembering dreams, but whether they were even dreamt… period. Those have to be the most unsettling kind: waking in the morning and having an empty, void feeling that makes you think that maybe you didn't really _sleep_—you just closed your eyes.

That was how I feel my sleep was last night.

But I can't complain.

At least I can _feel_ how my _sleep _was last night without having the sense of touch being numbed from having burns all over my body, right?

I'd like to think that's just enough to say it was a good night sleep.

I look over my shoulder and see Roxas sleeping soundly. We're facing back-to-back. I turn my head back around to face the same direction as the rest of my body put it back down on my pillow. The memory of what happened last night slowly pieces together in my mind:

I was terrified of sleeping.

I asked Roxas to appear in front of me so we could talk.

At one point he… put my hand on his bare chest.

He then somehow talked me into falling asleep, with that charismatic voice of his.

I smiled ever-so-slightly at the memory.

In front of me, on my nightstand, my old-fashioned analog alarm clock reads _9:23. _Eraqus told me he doesn't usually get up until a quarter 'til ten to cook breakfast, so I guess I'll just lay here until he gets up.

I turn my full body around onto my other shoulder to face my right to look at Roxas again.

This is the first time I've woken up before him. And the first time he's ever slept beside me and not _inside_ me all night…

His shoulders move calmly in a rhythmic motion as he inhales and exhales: up and down, up and down. I sort of wish he was turning towards me so that I can do one of those poetic, close-up descriptions of how peaceful and serene his face looks when he sleeps, like all of his troubles are left behind while dreaming.

But, no. Only his white T-shirt-covered back is facing me. The only thing that's poetic about this moment is the rhythm of his breaths… Well, I guess, since he mentioned before that his heart was waiting for mine to start beating again, that included his lungs to start breathing again, too. So, maybe it's more poetic than I thought. I guess… our whole relationship is sort of poetic, then.

We're just far enough apart from each other that I can fully extend my arm and press my palm into Roxas' back. So I do.

He reacts slightly to my touch. He breathes in deeply, causing him to disrupt his previous breathing rhythm.

"Xion…?" is all he says in a hoarse voice.

"It's almost time to get up," I say.

I pull back my arm so that Roxas can turn over onto his back. He then takes in a deep breath as he begins to fully wake up.

We lie there in a comfortable silence for a while. But I decide to break as I clear my throat and begin to say, "So, uh, Roxas…" I pause for a short second. "I just… I wanna say thank you. For helping me sleep. For everything."

He chuckles slightly, then turns his head to look at me with his big blue eyes that always seem to glow even in the brightest of daylights. "It's what I'm here for."

I don't comment on the light, dried-up tear streaks I barely notice on his cheeks.

All I do at this moment is bite my lip. I'll have to ask him about it later.

"I mean, but _really_, Roxas… No one has ever done as much for me as you have. You've been more than… more than I could have ever asked for in life… So really, _thank you_…" I put more emphasis on the 'Thank you' so that he knows just exactly how grateful I am for him. "_Thank you _so much…."

But _I_ don't even realize how I grateful I am for Roxas until I start to feel teary-eyed, and—lo and behold—tears slowly, but surely, start rolling down my face, one at a time.

I hate crying. Crying always makes me feel so damn _pathetic_. And really ugly. This is the first time I've cried since I ran all the way to that cold field on the outskirts of town after Mrs. Wise beat me half to death. So, I'll say it again: I _hate_ crying. I never cry. I can count on _one hand _how many times I've cried in my lifetime. Especially _in front _of someone. So for me to cry like this in front of Roxas out of the blue is… well, it's close to a miracle.

Roxas pulls me close to him to hold me as I start to cry a little more. He doesn't shush me or even give me those comforting words to try to get me to stop crying. He just allows me to cry and cry and cry. And I cry as we lie there for the next ten minutes or so, until my cries dwindle down into a faint sniffle—until I just can't cry anymore.

The only thing I can do at this point is say:

"Thank you, Roxas."

_. R . X . R . X . R . X ._

At ten o'clock on the dot, Eraqus calls Vanitas, Olette, Pence and I down to eat breakfast.

By the time I am just about halfway done with all of my food, there is a knock on the front door.

The dog, Pluto, runs out the dining room and barks wildly at the guest. He wags his tail in excitement.

"I wonder who that could be," Eraqus says as he wipes his mouth with a napkin.

I clear my throat. "Oh, yeah, Eraqus—I, uh, forgot to tell you that I invited a friend over today. That's probably him. I'm sorry; I should have told you earlier. I'm really sorry." I bite my lip.

Roxas and I decided that Roxas shouldn't have to sneak and hide around here all the time. If he did, Eraqus and Vanitas would get suspicious. The doors in this house doesn't have locks that actually work, so trying to reconnect our souls would be a lot more difficult than when I got away with it at Naminé's house. So, this morning, we came up with the idea to have Roxas to be introduced to the house as a friend. That way, we'd have an excuse for him to be around during the day. We decided to do it from the jump because we thought it'd be best to do it as soon as possible so that we can get this out of the way.

I'm crossing my fingers so hard in hopes that this will work that they're turning from light pink to snow white.

Eraqus gives me a mysterious look. I'm not sure if he's angry or not about bringing this up so abruptly, especially since it's still relatively early in the morning. I can tell he's gonna be hard to figure out. He's not an open book like Naminé was.

Vanitas smirks. "Heh. Haven't even been here a full 24 hours and already inviting all your friends over, eh?" He takes a bite of his food, shaking his head.

Pence grins at Vanitas' joke, chuckling a little to himself. Olette stays quiet and picks at her food with her fork.

I sink into my seat. I'm beginning to think that this was a terrible idea and am wondering why Roxas didn't give me that fortune-cookie advice of his that we should wait it out a while and gain Eraqus' trust before we went through with this.

Eraqus sighs but then smiles a gentle smile, making all of my worries of his anger towards me quickly slip away. "Well, I guess I don't see a problem with it… for now." Then he says sternly, "But next time you _must_ tell me earlier that you're having company over, alright?"

"Yes, I will. I'm sorry again. Thank you, Eraqus."

I sigh in relief, unclenching my knuckles. This is the second miracle that's happened had today and it's not even noon.

I bow my head down in thanks then quickly stand up to leave the dining room and speed towards the front door.

"Hey, Roxas," I say awkwardly when I open the door. "I'm glad you could make it."

Roxas is standing with his hands in his pockets, smiling. He's wearing a black and white flannel shirt and a pair of jeans.

But he's only ever worn a white shirt and white pants.

Where the hell did he get these clothes?

"Yeah, for sure," he says, acting a lot more natural than I am. "I'd never miss a day I'd get to spend with you."

I feel a small warmth in my cheeks, chest, and stomach.

This is so weird.

'_Uh… Roxas,'_ I think, '_I don't think friends sound… you know, __**that **__close. Tone it down a bit, okay?'_

'_Yeah. Right. Sorry,' _he responds. _'I'll get used to this eventually.'_

I breathe in deeply, getting more nervous every second. This is completely nerve-wracking. I walk Roxas through the front room then into the dining room to introduce Roxas to everyone, the whole time Pluto circles around us and sniffs our legs.

"Um…" I start off absolutely eloquently. "W-well, uh, this is my, uh—"

"Hi, I'm Roxas," Roxas saves me from my terribly nervous introduction. He puts a hand out to Eraqus. "You must be Mr. Eraqus. It's nice to meet you."

Eraqus puts his hand out then grins. I can tell he's impressed. "Nice to meet you, too, son."

Vanitas nods his head in a 'What's up?' motion to Roxas. "Hey, I'm Vanitas."

"Hey," Roxas says. "Nice to meet you."

Vanitas looks at Pence and nudges him, urging him to introduce himself. Pence pouts a little, sticking out his bottom lip. "I'm Pence…" he grumbles.

Olette smiles sweetly and says, "My name's Olette."

"Oh, well it's nice to meet you, Pence and Olette," Roxas raises his hand and waves.

"So… Roxas, was it?" Eraqus asks him.

"Mhm." Roxas nods.

"Do you want to eat anything? We're having oatmeal and toast for breakfast, and there's a little left over," Eraqus offers.

"Oh, I'm good. But thank you, sir."

_Sir_.

Oh, Roxas…

"Hm. Alright. Well, Xion, are you done with your breakfast?"

"U-uh, yeah. I am." I grab my plate then walk into the kitchen to dump it in the trash bin. It feels a little off to finally speak when Roxas has been doing all of the talking.

"You and your friend can go up to your room, then." He takes another bite of his food.

"Oh, I-I'm done, too!" Olette says, gulping the last bit of her oatmeal. "Can I come with you?" She looks directly at Roxas.

"Um…" I clear my throat. "_Well_, you see…"

"Pence and I are done, too," Vanitas interrupts. "If you want, you can come play somethin' with us in my room."

Pence drops his mouth in shock and his shoulders also fall in disappointment. He probably doesn't like to play with anyone but Vanitas. Isn't that adorable. "But, _Vanitas—"_

Vanitas pushes Pence's forehead, almost causing the kid to fall out of his chair. "Shut up."

"Hey!" he says angrily to Vanitas. Pence crosses his arms in frustration and gives everyone a scowl.

Vanitas smiles in amusement, then gets up from his chair.

Eraqus stands up, also, stretching his back. "I'll get this table cleared, then, and the dishes done. You kids go ahead and have fun."

"Oh, I can help you do that."

I open my eyes in shock.

It was Roxas who said that.

Eraqus laughs. "That's pretty bold of you, since we've only just met. I'm fine doing it myself, though. But thank you, anyways."

"No, no," Roxas protests. "I _insist_." He grabs a couple of the plates that are on the table.

He _insists?_

'_Roxas, just what are you trying to do?'_ I think loudly, if that's even possible.

Eraqus gives him that same mysterious look he gave me earlier. He sighs, then gives Roxas a gentle smile. I figure he does that every time he decides to settle on something.

"Well then, uh… Thank you, Roxas."

* * *

**This chapter feels a little weird to me, and I feel like I ended it at an awkward spot. What do you guys think? **

**Huge thanks to my Beta-reader _Romance on Express_.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**xxxHikari-Kuraixxx (xxxLight-Darkxxx)**


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